They look like timid children
entering the health screening.
Old people.
Life against the dam of time.
They are the clergy of fatalism.
So much needs to be accepted
when you are old.
So much heartbreak and happiness
gets mixed up in the soul.
Can I have a souvenir?
For living so long.
Something to show Providence.
Something to hang on to from an outing.
Only a few look afraid.
Most stare, as if the common place
is beautiful.
Life was full of the beautiful.
But their eyes are sad.
Fog hides so much,
and remembering is short,
like a stick that can’t poke into holes,
or bat a tree trunk.
They look at each other like the lonely
who have nothing to say.
Smile,
then avert their eyes
as if they don’t care.
All they want to do is leave.
That is all there is to do,
one minute at a time,
leave.